


Growing Pains

by celeste9



Category: Suikoden, Suikoden II, Suikoden III
Genre: Baby Dragon, Dragons, Gen, Gift Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-12
Updated: 2014-01-12
Packaged: 2018-01-08 12:29:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1132666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celeste9/pseuds/celeste9
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Futch tries to care for Bright and learns a few things himself along the way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Growing Pains

**Author's Note:**

> For madame_onyx in Fandom Stocking.

“Sleeping again, is he?”

Futch started at the voice but very carefully didn’t move. The tiny white dragon was asleep, curled up in Futch’s lap. Futch liked to watch him, the way his little chest rose and fell as he breathed.

He drew his eyes from Bright to look at Humphrey. “He sleeps all the time,” he said in a low murmur.

Humphrey nodded. “You should be glad of it. He’ll be a terror soon enough.”

Futch remembered. He remembered the growing dragons back at the fortress, eating everything in sight and playing rough games with each other. He remembered Black.

“I’ll take care of him,” Futch said, tenderly rubbing Bright’s back, the scaly skin still quite soft beneath his fingers.

Humphrey didn’t say anything, but the way he was watching made Futch feel uncomfortable. Defensive, like Humphrey thought he couldn’t do it.

No one thought Futch could do it. He’d lost Black and they all thought he didn’t deserve another dragon.

He held Bright closer to himself, thinking that he would never, ever let go.

-

Hai Yo prepared Bright’s meals with seemingly as much care as he gave to everyone else’s. Futch had told him that Bright honestly didn’t care if his offal was raw or stewed with herbs that made it seem almost appetizing even to Futch (if he didn’t think about what it actually was, at least) but Hai Yo wouldn’t hear of it.

That Bright enjoyed it, however, couldn’t be denied. He was currently making a nuisance of himself while Futch tried to get settled, not wanting to spill the plate of food while he attempted to juggle Bright at the same time.

“Need help?”

“No,” Futch said stubbornly. He was determined to care for Bright on his own because Bright was _his._ His and no one else’s.

Humphrey’s eyebrow twitched ever so slightly, rising up. “You’re going to end up with sheep guts dripped down your front.”

“It’s goat, actually,” Futch said, letting Bright start in on his meal. “And some chicken.” He refrained from pointing out that he had none on his front because he did, however, have it splattered all over his hands.

And now it was on his breeches. Bright was an enthusiastic eater and certainly not the cleanliest. There were bits of the squishy food on Bright’s face and scattered around, but Futch gazed fondly at the sight nonetheless.

Humphrey knelt down on the ground beside them, squatting. As Bright licked his lips, Humphrey grabbed a morsel that had escaped and held it out. Bright eyed him warily and then darted out to gobble it up.

Futch narrowed his eyes but didn’t say anything. If it had been anyone but Humphrey…

Bright offered himself to Futch for cleaning, by this point knowing their routine. Futch carefully cleaned his face and his neck, down his front and to his feet. When he was done, Bright climbed up into Futch’s lap, his tiny sharp claws working at Futch’s thighs, and curled up for a nap.

Futch tried, and failed, not to feel smug.

-

“Oh, no,” Futch said, looking at his room in dismay.

It looked like a tornado had hit it. The covers on the bed were askew and feathers from the pillow were floating all over. Futch wasn’t exactly sure where the pillow covering had ended up, though he thought there was a bit of it on the desk. Some papers he’d left lying out were in shreds and books had been tossed around.

In the midst of the carnage was Bright, sitting on his haunches and innocently cleaning his wing.

There was the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs nearby and then continuing down the hall towards him. It was a familiar and unmistakable tread. Futch considered hiding inside the room and locking the door behind him.

But he didn’t. He wasn’t a coward.

“I told you not to leave him alone,” Humphrey said.

“It was only for a minute!”

Humphrey gazed levelly at him.

Futch fidgeted. “Maybe I should’ve asked someone to watch him for a bit,” he relented.

As he settled in to spend his afternoon cleaning up the wreckage of his room, with the promise of Humphrey’s inspecting eye when he was through, Futch considered that maybe sometimes a little help would be all right.

Only sometimes. And just a little.

-

It wasn’t until Futch was grown that he realized what Humphrey had been doing all those years, with his silence and mild looks and what Futch had always imagined must be disappointment or disapproval. Letting Futch come to things on his own, figuring out the right path to take without being needled into it.

Futch knew he would never be the man Humphrey was.

He couldn’t even control Sharon. No, control was the wrong word. He couldn’t do what Humphrey had done, he couldn’t help Sharon grow into the person she could be. She was irresponsible and reckless and didn’t take anything seriously enough. Futch had no idea what to do with her most of the time and he was sure that Commander Milia would have his head if he brought Sharon back to her like this.

“Sharon,” Futch sighed, when she wandered back to the castle past dark, muddy and disheveled.

“What?” Sharon said, crossing her arms over her chest like she’d done nothing wrong. Bright butted his head in the center of her back, nudging her forward hard enough to nearly make her go sprawling. She scowled.

Futch didn’t even know where to begin. How could he teach Sharon when she refused to see that her behavior was problematic in the first place? Surely Futch had never been this bad. Humphrey had had it easy compared to this.

“You should be happy!” Sharon tried to insist. “You always say I need more training, so I went out walking, and I fought some stuff, and then I went to Mount Hei-Tou and I killed one of those giant crab things.”

“By yourself? Without telling me where you were going? Until after dark?” Futch willed Sharon to just _get it._

By some miracle, she did look faintly abashed. She scuffed the toe of her boot in the dirt. “Aw, well, you could’ve _told_ me you were worried about me,” she said, her lips upturning into a sly smile.

Futch sighed again. Save him from teenage girls.

_“Anyway,”_ Sharon went on, like Futch was the aggravation here, “I figured if we took Bright, we could carry some of it back. You know. The crab. To eat.”

Sharon stood there quietly, just looking at him. Futch stared right back. This was progress, right? He thought this was progress. Maybe Sharon _did_ pay attention to him sometimes. Maybe it was better when he didn’t shout.

Futch would never be the man Humphrey was, but sometimes he came close.

_**End** _


End file.
